


Sparks Fly

by orphan_account



Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's raining at Pocono again-- typical. Will a simple text message change the world as Kasey Kahne knows it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks Fly

It feels like we've been here at Pocono forever. I’m not saying that because I hate the place; I mean, I have won here. It’s just the rain and the clouds and the fog... I guess I should feel at home here, come to think of it, but I don’t. I just feel annoyed that we can’t ever seem to make it through a weekend here without practice or qualifying being rained out, or the race being delayed. Mother Nature needs to quit being such a bitch. What did Pennsylvania ever do to her?

He’s on my mind again, the gray sky distracting me, leading me to think about happier things than a practice I’m sure is about to be canceled. I swear these thoughts of him have been building for years. YEARS. So many moments over the years... the grins he’d give me that felt like they were just for me, the little innocent touches that would mean nothing to anyone watching, but meant something to me, that I was convinced meant something to him too... whispered words of encouragement between interviews, when it was obvious talking to the media was the last thing I wanted to do... texts when I was going through all the bullshit with RPM... to the casual observer, it was all just one driver being supportive of another. Normal. Nothing special to see here, move along.

I knew, though. I knew it was more than just that. His green eyes would meet my blue ones, and there would be this _moment_ of recognition between the two of us before we went back to the _normal_ everyone around us expected. And it’s been that way for years. Maybe even since the first time we met. I feel like I've been waiting on what’s supposed to come next since 2002, since that first Busch race at Rockingham when we started 20th and 21st. We stood together waiting for driver introductions, and that was the first time he gave me that thousand-watt smile that melted something inside of me. I’m so tired of waiting. I've waited long enough for a lifetime. I don’t want to wait anymore.

The sky opens up as I pull back into the garage for Kenny to make more adjustments to the car. There goes the rest of practice. I consider staying in the car until Kole’s voice comes over the radio, confirming that they've lost the track, and NASCAR’s calling practice. I crawl out of the car and look over across the roof of it to the next garage stall. He’s bent over, leaning into the window of the car for something. I try not to stare, but I can’t help it. No one notices because they’re all too busy working on the car. As I’m staring, I hear my phone beep, letting me know I've got a text message. Before I even look down at it, I say a quick prayer that it’s from him, and when I look, it is. I’m staring down at my phone, goofy grin on my face as one of the engineers bumps into me, then apologizes, then tells me it’s probably safe for me to leave for the day. I nod absently and finally click into the message.

_Drop everything now._

I look over to his garage stall, and he’s no longer leaning into the window of his car. In fact, I don’t see him at all.

That’s odd. And I have no idea what I’m supposed to drop. My pants, maybe? I mean, I’m not holding anything; what else is left to drop?

The phone beeps again.  


_Meet me behind the garage in 10 minutes. Might want to change out of that firesuit._

Yeah, no shit. Don’t really want the thing soaked through with rain. I dash across the short distance from the garage to the hauler, and change into the pair of jeans and t-shirt I keep for changing into after races. I walk back out of the hauler in my street clothes, look around, realize no one’s watching what I’m doing, and start to walk down the side of the garage, turning to head behind it.

When I turn the corner, I see him, standing about 20 feet in front of me, jeans and a white t-shirt that’s already soaked with rain and is clinging to him, showing off his pecs and abs. He’s grinning like a fool, because really, what other excuse is there for standing in the pouring rain?

I skitter the last few feet to stand directly in front of him, so close we’re nearly touching. He starts to raise his hand to gesture, and our knuckles brush against each other.

“ Didn't think you’d come,” he says, smiling, holding his hand up so that the rain bounces off of it, “especially not with it raining like this.”

I shiver just a tiny bit. I try to convince myself that it’s because the temperature’s dropping with the rain, but I know it’s because of how close we’re standing, how he’s grinning, that little spark between the two of us as his wet skin brushed mine.

This is such a bad idea; we’re so dead if anyone finds out. If anyone sees and puts two and two together and manages to come up with four, this could be a career-killer for both of us. Pretty sure Bass Pro would be very unpleased to find their driver likes other male drivers, and God only knows what Rick Hendrick will do to me. I’m thinking it’ll begin with ripping up that contract and pissing on it.

The funny thing is, that tiny brush of his hand against mine... my heart’s overriding my brain now. My heart says who gives a fuck about the world, about contracts and sponsors? You know this is right. You can feel it.

Ice blue eyes meet jade green ones, my lips curving into the tiniest hint of a smile. Countless nights I've gone to sleep imagining those eyes looking into mine, looking at me just the way they are now. Now that it’s actually happened, I know it won’t just be in my dreams; the way he’s looking at me right now is going to follow me around for the rest of my life. I’ll never forget how this moment feels...

“I’m glad you did,” he whispers, leaning in so close that our noses touch.

My heart is beating so loudly I’m sure the people camping outside the track can hear it, and then he closes his eyes and gently presses his lips to mine.

His kiss isn't anything like I’d imagined it would be.

It’s better than anything I could’ve ever imagined.

His lips move so, so gently against mine, like he’s afraid he’s going to break me. Maybe he is.

I start to kiss him back, just as gently, like this is all a dream and if either of us pushes too much, we’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone.

It’s the most tame kiss I've had since I was 12.

_It’s the best kiss I've ever had._

He finally pulls back, and I blink my eyes open, aware that my whole world just changed, and I’m pretty sure it was a change for the better.

His eyes are still closed, and I take the moment to savor the look of bliss on his face.

“Wow,” he whispers, and if we were even an inch farther apart, if the rain was even a tiny bit heavier, I wouldn't have caught it.

I lick my lips.They taste like him now, Cherry Coke and spearmint chewing gum.

He opens his eyes slowly, like he’s afraid of my reaction. He doesn't have anything to be afraid of, though.

“I’ve only been waiting for that for nine years,” I say, smiling.

He laughs, reaches for my hand, and squeezes it before letting go. “ I've only been working up the courage to do that for nine years.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
So many people were hanging around the track after the race, just waiting to head out to Eldora for the Prelude, that someone decided we might as well have a party. It’s finally gotten dark, music is blaring from somewhere, Christmas lights are strewn between the coaches... you’d think it was December, instead of the middle of June.

I put a cooler out in front of my coach, fill it with the drinkable contents of my fridge, and wander off into the thick of things, nursing a Bud Light. I say hi to a couple of guys as I pass them, nodding, not really getting caught up in the conversations around me.

I continue taking swigs from the bottle in my hand, moving forward, searching the crowd until I see him, standing in the middle of a group of his former teammates, hands moving at ninety miles an hour as he illustrates the point he’s making with his gestures.

I lean back against someone’s coach, the hint of a smile curving my lips as I watch him grow more animated as he talks, the guys around him laughing at whatever he’s saying. He just happens to look in my direction, and his smile gets even bigger. I roll my head to the left, turn in that direction, and he nods almost imperceptibly. I see him start to tell the guys he’ll catch up with them later, that it’s past his bedtime, and they laugh knowingly. I head around the back of the coach I was leaning against, and a minute or so later, I’m no longer alone as he slips his hand in mine.

He pulls me silently to his coach, lets go of my hand just long enough to punch in the security code, then takes it again and leads me carefully up the stairs into his dark coach. On the top step, he turns and whispers to me, pausing between the words like they’re something sacred to be treasured forever, “Stay here... with me.... tonight.”

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.


End file.
